The Stillness of Silence
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Grissom has a frightening, surreal experience related to his hearing... slight G/S angle


"The Stillness of Silence"  
By Midnight Caller (midnightcaller_vfx@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. But, hey, they're quite amazing so I borrowed them for just a bit.   
  
Rating: G, I guess...   
  
Summary: Sentence fragments and you: how to spend a few hours bonding with your computer. Actually, this is based on something that happens to me quite frequently, and I thought I'd just apply it. It's really more of a Grissom story than G/S, but she's in there, I promise. I just really needed to write this. Read into this as you will. I wrote it in about an hour, so anything that seems really deep is probably accidental (or I'm just that good).  
  
Feedback: Why not? It's why I write.  
  
  
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Panic.   
  
It rushed in on him, a suffocating sense of helplessness that engulfed his body and invaded his ears, replacing every sound with a disturbingly quiet whoosh, like snow on a TV set.   
  
The folder fell from his hands, and he stared into the space of the office, letting his eyes fall to the glass case a few feet away. The spider. Each step was meticulously deliberate, careful not to audibly disturb its owner. But he couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear the a/c filtering through the vents. No phones rang. No feet shuffled in the hall. Even the sound of his own breathing was absent from his ears. Just... gone.   
  
Silence.  
  
For no particular reason, he left his chair and tentatively stepped out into the hallway. A few moments into his journey he stopped and just stood there, bewildered. Bodies rushed by with unnerving silence. Their clothes didn't rustle. Their shoes didn't squeak. There was just light reflecting off surfaces and bouncing back to his eyes. Shadows. Highlights. Colors. But they were absolutely quiet. It was like being in the middle of a moving painting.   
  
The panic continued, and he could feel his breath getting faster, his throat and muscles getting tighter. His face was flushed, and he knew he was close to hyperventilating. Was it showing on his face? No one stopped to ask, no one even brushed against him as he stood there. It was as if... as if... he didn't exist.   
  
Involuntarily, he tried to yell. Nothing. His throat strained, and his vocal chords made their familiar vibrations, but he couldn't hear anything. And no one around him responded.   
  
Fear.  
  
He closed his eyes and was instantly frightened. This was the closest to death he'd been in a long time. Since his mother died. At least, it seemed like death. No sounds. No sights. Just absolute nothingness. He knew what it was like to be alone, but this was a whole new level of isolation that went far beyond loneliness. He was alone in the darkness, and he was scared.   
  
To stop the nightmare he opened his eyes- and suddenly the halls were empty. He spun on his heels, desperately wanting to hear... just ... anything. A paper clip clinking on the floor. A cough. A hello. He wanted to feel something in this giant void.   
  
Outside. He needed to go outside. He took off down the hall and threw open the double doors. The sunlight drenched him in warmth, and for a brief moment he thought he had escaped the silent torture.   
  
Straining his eyes against the glare, he searched for anyone, another soul in the surreal silence. But he was alone. Again. And the endless quiet continued to torment his mind. Why? Why was this happening? He needed more time to hear. More time to speak, to hear others respond. He needed to hear music. A joke. A confession. Acknowledgment.   
  
His thoughts stopped abruptly as he fought to concentrate. He did hear something. It was faint at first, becoming louder. It stunned him.   
  
His mother's laugh.   
  
He shut his eyes for a moment as the memory haunted him. He tried, unsuccessfully, to push it away to the recesses of his mind. But when he closed his eyes all he saw was her, smiling at him. Signing. She laughed once more.  
  
One tear. That's all he could let go. It slipped down the side of his cheek, caressing the skin like a lover's finger.   
  
  
  
Suddenly, he was awake. It was dark, and he sat up, realizing he was in his own bed. It was still painfully quiet. He held his head with both hands, desperate for the nightmare to end. Wait - his hands in his hair. The sound of his curls moving back and forth was almost deafening in the silence of his apartment. Other sounds started to fade in. Air flowing through the vent. The refrigerator changing frequency. His breathing. He fell back into the bed and tried to calm himself down, just like he'd done the night before, and the night before that.  
  
He needed - no, he *wanted* to talk to someone. Acknowledgment.   
  
He leaned over and picked up the receiver. Dialed. Heard the ring. And then--  
  
"Hello?"   
  
He woke her. He glanced at the clock and winced.   
  
"It's late... I'm sorry, Sara..."   
  
She sighed, but it was out of relief, not exasperation. "Grissom... are you okay?"  
  
There was a long silence on his end. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"It's good to hear your voice."   
  
  
  
(Fin.) 


End file.
